Identity Theft by Gary Soto - Rackspace Technology



Soto, Gary. (2008). Identity Theft.

In G. Soto, Facts of life (pp. 41-51).

New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Permission pending

The day after Valentine’s Day Ana Hernandez arrived at school early intending to sort through her batch of cards. They read BE MINE, YOU’RE THE MOST, SWEETIE, CUTIE-PIE. If only they were true. No one had ever said, “Be mine?” or called her “cutie-pie”—an expression from her grandmother’s generation. These days, the bolder sixth-grade boys would scream, “You like me, huh?”

Still, Ana felt popular as she sorted through her cards, her mouth sweetened by the cinnamon candy a boy had dropped into one of the envelopes. She suspected it was from Peter, but she couldn’t be sure.

She was still reading her valentines when her teacher entered the classroom with a new girl. The teacher’s smile made Ana curious—was it possible that Ms. Welty had received a valentine’s card from another teacher? There were rumors that she and Mr. Saks, the third-grade teacher, liked each other.

“Ana," Ms. Welty called. “Ana, I want you to meet . . .” The teacher stalled, then smiled, a little color flushing her cheeks. “I want you to meet Ana Hernandez.”

Confused, Ana put down a large valentine.

“What I mean,” Ms. Welty started to explain, "is that this is Ana Hernandez. You two have the same name!”

The original Ana Hernandez glared at the imitation Ana Hernandez. She didn’t like it: someone else with her name. Also, she had to admit that the other Ana Hernandez was pretty, an inch or two taller, and nicely dressed. And was that a cell phone tucked in the pocket of her Tommy Hilfiger jeans? And were those real Steve Madden shoes?

But the original Ana quickly replaced the glare in her eyes with something like indifference.

“You got so many valentines," the new Ana sang. She picked one up and sniffed it, her pretty little nose wrinkling in a cute way.

Dang, even her voice is nicer than mine, the original Ana thought spitefully. “These are some of them,” she explained. “Most of them I had to carry home in a sack yesterday.” She wished she could bite her tongue off and let it crawl away like a snake. That was such an obvious lie!

The new Ana smiled, and the original Ana wondered, Is she laughing at me?

It was a weird experience, like looking at a twin sister you had never seen before. The original Ana Hernandez pondered her ill will toward this new girl, and felt that she was being unfair. She can’t help it, Ana figured, that she has my name.

The new Ana fit right into school life. She volunteered to be a crossing guard and helped raise the flag. She helped at a fund-raising car wash and was rumored to have played her flute at an assisted living complex across the street from school. Within a week she was chosen to say the Pledge of Allegiance on the intercom, a special honor usually assigned to students with good grades. She recited it so well that she was assigned to read the school bulletin, which always started with the menu for the day.

The original Ana steamed. She had recited the Pledge of Allegiance on the intercom before, but she had never been asked to read the bulletin. Boldly she approached the principal in the hallway outside the office.

“Mr. Ortiz,” she asked, “when can I read the bulletin?”

“But you just did,” he countered in surprise.

They soon discovered the error. The reader was supposed to have been the original Ana, not the new Ana. The secretary, they guessed, had made a mistake. When Mr. Ortiz offered the original Ana the chance to read the school bulletin, she grabbed the opportunity. But she felt slighted, and the bulletin she read to the entire school was unimportant. She reported two missing basketballs and a restroom that was going to be closed for the week.

Original Ana observed that new Ana received lots of attention. Ms. Welty would call, “Okay, who can remember when President Lincoln—“ and before the teacher could finish her sentence, new Ana would fling her arm up, bracelets jangling. The new Ana didn’t do this all the time, only at moments when the original Ana knew the answers.

One day when soccer teams were chosen during recess, Becky Ramirez, the star athlete of the school, said, “I’ll take Ana Hernandez.” The original Ana stepped forward, and Becky snapped, “No, not you—the other Ana. The new girl!” That day Ana was chosen last, and on the field the ball was never passed to her.

In a classroom spelling bee the original Ana had to sit down almost immediately, after she stumbled on rhinoceros. The spelling bee became hotly contested between the new Ana and Peter, the boy the original Ana had hoped sent her a special valentine.

“Spell triangular,” Ms. Welty called to Peter.

He spelled it, wincing as he struggled to get the letters in the proper order. He clenched his lists in victory when Ms. Welty said, “That’s correct.” In turn, the new Ana eased through the word magnetic.

The battle lasted ten minutes. The boys rooted for Peter, and the girls screamed their heads off for the new Ana. In the end Peter prevailed, but the new Ana clapped for the victor and even held up his hand like a champ.

This made the original Ana mad. She, the newcomer, a fraud, a mere imitation—how dare she touch the hand that put the cinnamon candy in my valentine card! Ana fumed.

Ana confided in her mother while they were in the kitchen peeling potatoes at the sink. Two onions that would bring tears to their eyes sat on the counter. The daughter was ready for tears, even if they were forced to her eyes by big bloated onions.

“There’s nothing wrong,” her mother argued softly. Her lined brow expressed her concern for her daughter. “When I was at school, there was another Beatriz Mendoza.”

Mendoza was her mother’s maiden name, and Beatriz her childhood name. Now she was known as Betty, though some of her friends called her Lu-Lu. Why, Ana could never figure out, but it was a name that her mother responded to.

The original Ana considered being called “Annie.” She then thought about using her middle name, Maria. But there were two Marias in the other sixth-grade class, and a third, Ana felt, would be one too many. She then decided, “I’ll change my names,” and considered Michelle, a pretty name, one that sounded French.

“Michelle Hernandez,” she said to her mirror. “My name is Michelle.” She giggled and then remembered that her grandmother had a Chihuahua named Michelle, a frighteningly ugly dog with bulging eyes and crooked teeth.

In class Ms. Welty would call, “Ana,” and both girls would answer yes. Most times Ms. Welty was seeking out the new Ana.

Then the original Ana concluded, “I shouldn’t be stuck-up. I should be friends with her.” But by the time the original Ana decided to warm up to the new Ana, she discovered that the newcomer was so popular that they couldn’t hang. She just couldn’t manage to establish a friendship with the new Ana, even when the original Ana confided, “You know, I have a birthmark on my thigh.”

Then a new fad—jangling bracelets first worn by the new Ana—spread throughout the school. “l don’t want to wear them,” the original Ana fumed, but in the end she, too, wore bracelets and was not above jangling them for no reason except to show she was one of the crowd.

As spring advanced, bringing flowers and freshness to the air, the original Ana drifted away from her classmates. She spent time alone, eating her sandwich, potato chips, and cookies by herself. She began to revel in this quiet time, though occasionally she would look up and see the new Ana at the center of activity. There she was playing four-square or soccer, and escorting guests around school. She was responsible for starting a school garden—tomato and eggplant seeds were first planted in egg cartons. After they’d sprouted, mothers and fathers came to dig up the soil on a Saturday morning. That day the original Ana saw a television crew approaching the new girl.

“Now she’s going to be on TV,” the original Ana cried. She was. The new Ana was given ten seconds on camera. She posed with Peter near the garden, displaying an egg carton of tomato plants.

And what could the original Ana do but watch the new Ana play her flute during a talent show? She had to swallow her jealousy—yes, that was it—when Peter joined her to sing a song in French!

The original Ana felt like the Invisible Girl. She would walk around school, and no one seemed to see her. One day in the girls’ room, she looked at the mirror over the sink, and her reflection was not there.

The mirror was gone, its broken shards gathered up in a dustpan and thrown away, but the symbolism was clear.

“She’s stolen my identity,” the original Ana lamented after reading an article in the newspaper about criminals stealing information about another person. She chewed a fingernail. Could this really happen to her? She was only twelve, but perhaps years from now when she got her first credit card, this new Ana would steal it. Or maybe this new Ana would get in a car wreck and say she had been at fault. Then she swallowed from fear. She imagined having a baby that was claimed by the new Ana!

That night she hardly slept. She listened to a dog overturn the garbage can—or was it the new Ana digging through the trash, gathering information about their family? She peered outside but saw no one.

During spring break the original Ana learned that her family would be moving. Her father and mother had spoken many times about a new house and often went to open houses on the weekend. Now it was really going to happen—and soon. Her father had gotten a promotion at work and they were moving to Escondido, thirty miles north of their house in Chula Vista.

“The new place has a pool,” her father said.

A pool! Ana pictured herself diving into the water and fetching a dime on the bottom. She pictured having friends over for a swim party. I’ll be the new girl! she thought. I can make a fresh start, and that Ana can have my stupid old school.

“It’s going to be nice,” she mumbled in bed at night, and wondered about the stick-on stars on her ceiling. They’ll have to stay, she assumed, and the girl who lives in my bedroom will have something to look at at night.

On the first day at her new school Ana was nervous. Will they like me? she wondered. She dressed in her new clothes, and pocketed a cell phone, her first, which she habitually opened and closed.

Her mother escorted her to the office, where Ana was introduced to a counselor, a woman with a face like a pretty flower and who smelled like a flower when she extended her hand. Two girls, office helpers, said hi. A boy, seated in a chair and with a bloodied elbow—he was still hugging his skateboard—managed to put a smile on his face.

It’s nice here, Ana told herself as the counselor led her from the office. Ana could see that the school was clean and modern. The flower beds were flush with yellow and red flowers, and a custodian was mopping up a spill in the hallway.

“Here she is, Ms. Carroll,” the counselor announced lightly.

Ana’s new teacher approached. Ana liked her right away, and liked how she took her hand in hers.

“l hear you’re a very good reader,” Ms. Carroll encouraged.

“I guess,” Ana answered simply.

Together they entered the classroom, Ms. Carroll prodding her gently. Another girl was hunkered down at her desk, holding a pair of large scissors. What is she cutting? Ana wondered, then surmised that she was making a collage.

Ms. Carroll said to the girl, “Ana, I want to you to meet . . .” She stalled, uncertain how to continue. Then she said it: “l want you to meet Ana Hernandez, our new student. Funny, you both have the same name.”

The girl glared at Ana, and her scissors chopped at the air. That day, the original Ana became the new Ana. The new new Ana couldn’t help but falsely praise, “What a nice collage.” She brought her hand to her hair and the bracelets on her wrists jangled. The students entering the classroom asked, “Who’s she? What’s her name?”

“Me?” She turned around in a neat pirouette. “I’m Ana Hernandez.”

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